


The Pause of Mr Claus

by daoniesidhe



Series: The Black Mailbox Stories [11]
Category: The Lone Gunmen (TV), The X-Files
Genre: Conspiracy, Gen, Holiday, Humor, M/M, surprise
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 13:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daoniesidhe/pseuds/daoniesidhe
Summary: Ain't he cute, the man in the Santa suit?





	The Pause of Mr Claus

**Author's Note:**

> The title is Arlo Guthrie, the summary is from Fountains of Wayne. They're not mine, and neither is anyone I borrowed for this little Christmas gift, offered in the tabloid vein: _Sexy Elf Assassin Kidnaps Zombie Santa For Aliens! Details inside!_
> 
> This is another old story migrating from my currently missing webpage. It's Black Mailbox, so there's relationships established, but in this one they're just implied. No sex, sorry.

"What the hell?"

Someone was leaning on the door buzzer, which wasn't really all that common even for the Gunmen at, Frohike blinked fuzzily at his clock, three-twenty-six AM. He grabbed his robe and the baseball bat he kept under the bed and joined his roommates as they stumbled into the hallway in various states of undress.

Byers noted the bat with a raised eyebrow under mussed hair that made him look all of fifteen. "I don't think you need that. It's probably just Mulder, you know."

Frohike shouldered him aside and headed downstairs. "Believe me, I'll still need it, even if it's Mulder."

Langly snickered.

They were already gathering around the security video feed by the time Jimmy made his way down. 

"What's going on?" Jimmy actually sounded alert at this ungodly hour, even having taken time to pull on jeans and a shirt. Morning people, Frohike thought disgustedly.

"Yves, do you suppose?" Byers asked. Someone had taped a piece of paper in front of the camera. They could make out a lipstick print in bright red.

"I don't think that's her shade." Frohike toggled the second camera's feed, and then they were looking at a black body bag lying on the floor at the bottom of the stairwell. An obviously occupied body bag. With a red bow on top.

"Holy shit," Langly yelped. "I hope _that's_ not Yves."

Jimmy shoved him out of the way. "Oh, my God." He reached for the locks.

Byers grabbed Jimmy's arm. "I'm sure it's not. Why would it be?" 

Frohike took a step backward. "Whoever it is, it just moved."

Everybody froze for a long moment, watching the screen. One end of the bag shifted again. 

Langly made a little noise like a moan, going pale. "If that's a zombie…"

Frohike couldn't quite laugh. "We'd better think about this." He hit another key and the buzzer fell silent. "Langly, check all the messages. If we're lucky, it's just Mulder, and this's Skinner's way of telling him he's fired and all ours--though that's _really_ not Skinner's shade," he added as an afterthought. "But we'd better find out where the usual suspects are before we open that door. Byers, we'll each take a tape here and see what we've got. Jimmy, why don't you go get the Taser? I'd like something a little more forceful than Slugger, here, if it turns out to be some kind of trick."

Byers had started to pull the video, but stopped abruptly at Frohike's words. "Uh, Jimmy, I'll get the Taser. After last time…"

Jimmy blushed furiously. "It was an accident, guys! I said I was sorry!"

Langly flipped him off. "Yeah, and that just made it all _so_ much better, you big dummy."

"Boys, we don't have time for this," Frohike broke in. "Byers, get the Taser. I'll look at the tapes. Jimmy, you can… stay here and watch the camera. Let us know if anything happens, okay? And _don't_ open the damned door."

"No shit." Langly was still scowling. "Remember the scene in _Alien_ when Ripley told them not to open the airlock? Don't even _think_ about opening the door."

"Boys," Frohike said again, without heat. He grabbed both tapes and went to the recorder, shoving one in at random. It turned out to be Camera One. He rewound until the paper came off the lens and his jaw dropped. 

"Weirdness." He hit pause. "It's, uh, Yves. I think."

They gathered around.

"Wow," Jimmy said.

Yves was dressed like an elf from a Las Vegas square dance Christmas review. A holly green silk blouse that showed an awful lot of cleavage topped off a tiered fiesta skirt in red with full petticoats and nylons that sparkled like snow. 

Frohike let out a low whistle. "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas."

Langly snorted. 

"She's smiling, anyway," Byers commented.

"Is that good news?" Langly asked.

Frohike shrugged. "I'm pretty sure Yves wouldn't do anything dangerous to us." He thought about that. "On purpose, anyhow."

"Someone could be using her?" Byers suggested.

Jimmy shook his head emphatically. "She wouldn't. She wouldn't hurt us."

"What if she was a zombie?" Langly demanded.

"Shut up about that, will you?" Frohike snapped. "There's no such thing as zombies."

"Yeah?" he snarled back. "What about Super Soldiers? You gonna tell me there's no such thing as those?"

There was a long, unpleasant silence while they all considered that possibility. 

"No," Byers said eventually. "If that was a live Super Soldier out there, there'd be no way to keep it in a plastic bag."

"Good point," said Frohike slowly, trying to let himself be persuaded. He looked at the faces around him and had the feeling nobody else was especially convinced, either. He rewound again, and they watched Yves crouch over the bag for a few moments and then stand up and start pushing it up the stairwell. He waited until the screen had been empty for a few minutes and then hit forward.

This time they watched Yves make an appearance dragging the bag down the stairwell. Once she had it in place, she bent over it and opened it, pulling something from—only later analysis, close analysis, and plenty of it, would show where she'd managed to hide _anything_ in that costume—somewhere, and tucking it inside the bag. Then she stood up, smiled at Camera One, pulled the paper from somewhere, and stuck it over the lens.

"Go back," Byers said. "Did you see that?"

"In the bag? Yeah." Frohike rewound and froze the image. "What the hell is that?"

"She's sticking some kind of bottle in there, but…"

They all slid into silence as they contemplated what they were looking at.

"I just want to be really, really clear about this," Frohike said. "That's a Santa hat, in that body bag, that Yves Adele Harlow has dropped outside our door."

The others nodded, dumbfounded.

"Weirdness," said Frohike. It seemed to cover it.

"You don't think…"

"Did she leave any messages, Langly?" Byers asked desperately. " _Some_ explanation?"

"Uh. No email…" He went through the switchboard. "Phone message on the tip line twenty minutes ago." He hit the speaker playback. 

"Good morning, boys," came Yves' voice, managing to sound both ominously cheerful and reassuringly lively, "Sorry to wake you up, but some things won't keep. As you're no doubt aware by now, I've left you an early Christmas present. We've been working together a long time, after all," she continued blithely. "And while I can't say it's all been fun, some of it has been quite beneficial to me. Reward money and such."

Langly rolled his eyes. "Glad you enjoyed it," he muttered.

"Now, gentlemen, don't keep your new toy out there too long. He might be getting uncomfortable. And I've no doubt you can think of better ways to make him uncomfortable. I'll look forward to seeing the story, of course." And then she was gone, leaving them to stare at each other.

"So she's giving us a story?" Jimmy wondered.

Frohike shook his head. "This should be great. 'Yes, Virginia, There Was A Santa Claus'?"

"Maybe we'd be better off with a zombie."

"Langly," Byers sighed. 

"I'm hiding your damn movies," Frohike grumped, starting on the locks.

They cautiously crept into the stairwell. Frohike pulled the sign from the camera, and a strip of tape that had been holding the buzzer down. There was another long moment filled with the sort of throat-clearing and sidelong looks that tend to accompany a round of sweaters from Grandmother. Jimmy finally shrugged and knelt to tug at the zipper.

"Guys?" 

The bag fell open to reveal the man in the Santa suit: an extremely unhappy Morris Fletcher, bound, blindfolded and gagged with thick bands of duct tape.

"Well," said Byers briskly. "That's certainly… something."

Frohike snorted. "You gotta admire that girl's style."

Langly snickered some more. "Cool! _And_ a pony! Thank you, Santa!"

As Fletcher struggled listlessly, something rattled out of the bag onto the concrete. Byers bent to pick it up. "She's very… thorough." He handed Frohike a spent glass cartridge for an injector gun. "Rohypnol."

Langly was suddenly thoughtful. "So… he's got no idea where he is."

"Even if he does, he's not going to remember," Frohike said. "Or how he got here."

Byers almost smiled. "Now aren't you glad we kept the alien outfit, Mel?"

Langly grinned malevolently. Fletcher was probably lucky he couldn't see it. "I'm glad we kept the… probes."

Frohike cackled. "We've been _very_ good this year, boys. I'm calling Mulder. He'll enjoy this." He spared Fletcher another glance as Jimmy started to manhandle the bag inside. "Talk about the gift that keeps on giving."


End file.
